


You're a Disease

by iamavacado



Series: The Virus Series [1]
Category: Antisepticeye - Fandom, Wiishu(loosely), jacksepticeye
Genre: Assault, Blood, Control, Death, F/M, Gen, Knives, Loss of Control, antisepticeye, knife, posession, slight gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 03:15:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9859694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamavacado/pseuds/iamavacado
Summary: Jack doesn't take much notice of the itch at the back of his neck until one day, as he watches the internet blow up due to his incredible fan service, he goes to scratch it, and his fingers come back bloody.It all snowballs from there. And there's nothing he can do to save himself. Or anyone around him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> HEY! BEFORE you read this, please read @septiceyesweetheart 's fix "am I talking to myself?" because this was heavily inspired by that AMAZING read.
> 
> Also. They beta read this fic, so shout out to you!
> 
> Enjoy.

It started as an itch.

In the back of his mind, a tiny yet consistent little itch, just at the base of his spine, right under his skin. At first, Jack could ignore it. It wasn't very strong. It scratched and etched its name into his vertebrae, claiming its space in his body, but it wasn't that much of a bother. More of an inconvenience than anything else. He didn't even really know what it was, but he had started associating it with sadness and negativity, because it itched the most during a rare bout of anxiety. It wasn't that bad, though. He could cover it: hair, a hat, headphones, and a convincing smile. Constant appreciation and praise from the best fan base in the world didn't hurt either. 

A couple months later, October rolled around, and Jack got an idea.

Scrolling absentmindedly through Tumblr one day, his phone had the brilliant idea to freeze. Jack sighed, annoyed, and started the process of taking his battery out and starting his phone again, but he stopped when he noticed what exactly his phone had frozen on. He could only see half of a picture, and a caption. The part of the picture he could see was a drawing of him, his mouth and neck visible. His mouth was open in a wide grin, blood dripping from it and onto his neck. The caption read: "Halloween gives me Antisepticeye vibes~"

Just before his phone restarted, Jack couldn't help but smirk. He had the coolest thought.

He left his phone on the table to reset itself, and he dashed to his computer, opening Skype and calling up Robin. The idea he had couldn't be executed alone.

Robin picked up, and his face filled the screen. "Hey bud," he said, "What's up?"

"Robin," Jack proposed, "how good are you at editing glitches into existing footage?"

Robin tilted his head to the side a little, furrowing his brows. "Pretty good I guess. Why?"

"I have an idea."

***

Jack looked over the footage in awe, a huge, stupid smile on his face. This was great. The video was great. And scrolling through the comments just ignited the flame even more. Some were confused, but a majority of them were freaked out: their fan-made, half character of Jack, his "dark side", Anti, had actually become canon. They were excited. They were scared. And Jack was positively giddy. He clapped his hands and exclaimed, "This is amazing!" to no one in particular.

Then the back of his neck started itching.

He reached up to scratch it, not really taking notice of the action. But when he pulled his hand down, his nails came back bloody. Jack reached up again and touched the spot and, sure enough, his fingertip was dotted with blood.

"What the fuck?" He half walked half ran to the bathroom, abandoning the video to play without him, and he grabbed a hand towel from the rack. He wet it and pressed it to his neck. The cold water made it sting for a minute, then it felt fine.

When he pulled the towel back, it was clean.

***

A few days later, and this whole thing had blown up bigger than Jack could have ever imagined.

He scrolled through social media, way too happy for his own good, watching everyone go nuts. Art, theories, pictures, stories. It was all over the tags. Everyone loved Anti. It was all they were talking about. They were all focused on him. 

But Jack was getting busier and busier with this rash.

That place in the back of his neck had been itching for a reason, he found. He developed a rash. Jack realized this when he went to bed one night, and woke up hours later to find his pillow decorated with a sizeable stain of blood. He had Signe take a picture of the spot so he could see it, and it looked pretty gnarly.

The skin, just at the base of his neck, was red and raw, bleeding through in some spots, as if someone had been repeatedly clawing at it. Had he done that? In his sleep maybe? A quick examination of his hands and nails told Jack that he didn't. What in the hell...?

"You should get this checked out," said Signe as she stared at it. Gently, she tapped the blood up with a handful of toilet paper.

"My thoughts exactly," Jack agreed as he looked at himself through the mirror. Tired blue eyes stared back at him.

***

Halloween was approaching, only a week away, and Jack was starting to feel overwhelmed.

He had been preparing all month. Making time stamps for Robin to edit in the glitches, recording the extra footage, working himself to death to make this go right. It’s not that he wasn’t having fun, he was. More fun than he had ever had on the channel. But it made him feel overworked and tired, unnaturally so, at the end of each day.

And the pinnacle of it all, everything he'd been leading up to, everything people had been waiting, asking, _begging_ for was seven short days away.

And Jack had nothing.

He spat ideas out, wrote some down, but they didn't seem like enough. They didn't seem like fun, just a chore; and he knew he needed something good.

"Why don't you carve a pumpkin?" suggested Signe as they sat next to each other, cuddled on the couch. "Like last year."

"They don't want pumpkins," said Jack forlornly, swiping his freshly dyed, dark green hair to the side. "They want Anti." Jack reached up and scratched the back of his neck again, as it had started itching with a new vigor. "They want him, and not me, and not a pumpkin. They want something good." Jack didn't even realize the extent to which he was scratching as he talked about this or that or what the hell he was going to do. His fingers just moved of their own accord, around and down his neck. He only noticed when he felt a catch in his skin, then the warm sensation of blood dribbling down his neck.

"Sean!" Signe exclaimed, swatting his hand away. "Look at that! Jesus!"

Jack looked down, and saw that the small stream of blood had already made its way onto his clothes, staining the seams. He stood up, trying to block the flow with his hand, and he rushed to the bathroom. He heard Signe start to follow suit. "Just stay there, okay?" he called in vain.

Once there, Jack shut the door and grabbed for the hand towel, pressing it to his skin. He wasn't even sure where it was coming from; it was just coming. And was flowing a lot heavier than he expected. He just nicked himself, why the hell was it bleeding so much?

Jack heard a knock on the door. A soft, worried tapping. "Sean?" asked Signe from the other side. "Are you alright?"

He didn't answer right away; he was staring at the blood seeping through the fabric of the towel as he looked in the mirror. It was actually bleeding through the towel. It bled through so much that Jack could feel the blood making its way onto his fingers. Panic started lacing through him, and he was worried he'd done something very wrong to himself.

"Sean?"

Jack pulled the towel a few inches down, just to try and pinpoint where all this was originating from. But when he did, there was nothing there. The towel slipped from his hands and landed on the floor as he stared, half shocked at his neck, which was clear of any kind of blood, anywhere. The only thing that Jack could see was the red and raw skin of his rash, which had spread down to the sides of his neck, about an inch from his collarbone; and the small stain in his hoodie, which seemed the only evidence of blood flow.

He bent down to retrieve the towel, and saw that it too was absent of any blood. He opened it up all the way and peered at it, wondering, simply, _What the fuck?_

Jack opened the door, and he turned to Signe, showing her the towel and where he'd been bleeding. Both were crystal clean.

"I'm… fine," Jack said, _very_ confused. 

****

Halloween was tomorrow, and Jack couldn't be more disappointed with himself.

He examined the pumpkins that lay outside the store. Most of them were picked over, leaving only a few, the majority of which were covered in unsightly spots or dents. Only one stuck out that seemed okay, and Jack begrudgingly picked it up and purchased it, stuffing it in the back seat of Signe's car. He slid into the passenger's seat, a sigh escaping his lips.

He could feel that she was staring at him, and imagined the look on her face when she placed a gentle hand on his leg. Jack put his hand over hers. She'd seen him disappointed, but never like this. He was on the verge of tears.

"You did good, Sean," she said. "You did the best you could. The entire month you have been. It's okay."

Jack nodded, reaching up to scratch his neck, but he stopped himself, and messed with the strands on his hoodie instead. Signe put the car into drive. "I guess so."

It was this fucking rash that messed everything up. This damn thing, it had eaten up all his time, and he didn't have time to do anything else but tend to it. A trip to the doctor revealed nothing, seeing as he was told "It's not a rash I've ever seen before." They slapped a prescription for ointment on him anyway in hopes that it would help lessen the irritation. It didn't. If anything, it seemed to make it worse. 

The first time Jack applied the thick cream, it burned his skin. He figured it was normal, so he left it for a second and tried to go record, but the sensation became so intense that he had to wipe it off. Once he was in the bathroom, the cream was actually bubbling, as if someone was letting it simmer over a burner. The tube of cream had been sitting in his medicine cabinet, untouched, ever since.

The bleeding was another problem the doctor didn't know how to deal with. Rashes aren't supposed to bleed, he'd said. Only if you scratch them incessantly, which Jack had forced himself not to do. And they weren't supposed to bleed so damn much either. He had tried to show the doctor how it bled, which was a ridiculous decision, because of course he made a fool of himself, because of course it didn't bleed in front of him.

So he'd been constantly obsessed with it (goddamn thing was still growing by the day) and he ran out of time to figure out the Antisepticeye finale for Halloween. He had to settle: he was stuck carving a pumpkin.

"I just hope they won't be mad at me," Jack mumbled under his breath. He stared out the window and watched, half interested, as the trees and buildings whizzed by.

"They'll understand," assured Signe as she drove. "They're good people, Sean. They'll be fine."

He nodded, agreeing, but he couldn't help thinking, _God I hope you're right._

***

Jack had finally dragged this table upstairs, finally decorated it with fancy pumpkin lights, finally gotten a garbage bag, scooper, and two knives; and finally gotten Gerald the Pumpkin upstairs, sitting on top of it. It was a nice little setup, and he was ready to get started. While he may not be super proud of the idea, he was still going to make it the best he could make it.

Jack's finger was hovering over the start button on his camera, seconds from starting the video, when he felt it: a burning sensation on his rash again. With a frustrated sigh, he tried to ignore it; but it wasn't a subtle burn. It felt as if someone had pressed his neck to the inside of a campfire. Zero to a hundred just like that.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ!" he exclaimed, holding a hand over the area. Jack headed to the bathroom, a seemingly routine trip now, and he tried pressing a cold towel to the spot. It stung even more, and with a hiss, he dropped the towel.

Jack stared at the rash through the mirror, and watched in horror as his skin bubbled like water, scorching him all the while. There was nothing he could do for it. He didn't dare apply the cream to it.

Then it started growing.

He stood there and watched it, no longer enamored by the pain, but by the rash spreading before his eyes. 

It came from both sides of his neck, creeping along his skin, slowly, like syrup. The rash seemed to consume his skin, reducing it to the reddened, bubbling mess as the two "ends" of it got closer and closer.

"It's time," a voice said, loud enough to make Jack reel back. It sounded like it came from right behind him. Like it was inside his head, screaming from inside his brain. He turned around, but there was nothing there.

Jack only had time to turn back around to face the mirror and see the two ends of his rash connect around his neck before he started suffocating.

Immediately, his face went red as he was overcome, mid inhale, by a force that clamped his airway shut. Jack's hands flew up and tried in vain to pry the invisible hands off his throat, but there was nothing to pull off; it was as if something he couldn't see was doing this. He clawed at his skin, falling and slamming against the wall behind him, trying desperately to take in any air he could manage. He couldn't.

A match lit a flame inside his chest, and he felt his lungs burning, contracting, searing his chest. They were begging for oxygen, and a dozen alarm bells went off in his brain as it tried in vain to tell him that he needed to fix what was happening.

He was tearing at the rash, bursting the blisters and feeling the skin and fluids caking under his nails as he scraped. Blood flowed down his neck, and it too seemed to burn on the way down.

_I… am… here,"_ said the voice from before. It sounded like it had been layered over and edited, but something was all too real about it. It sounded familiar.

It sounded like Jack.

The voice laughed as he struggled to breathe, elevating to a cackle when he tried to call out Signe's name, knowing she was only rooms away. What could she have done?

Jack sunk onto the floor, back against the wall, a few tears sliding down his cheeks as the burning in his chest seemed to smooth over into something cooler. Like someone had pinched the match out and replaced it with a cool caress as he felt his heart slowing down. Black dots danced at the edges of his eyes, overtaking his vision. His hands fell from his neck, and soon, all he could feel was the thin, warm streams of blood that steadily dribbled down his neck and stained his clothes. All he could feel was his entire body pulsing in and out of consciousness. He couldn't lift his arms: he was so weak, so out of strength. He couldn't have reached for the door knob if he'd have tried.

The only thing he could hear was a soft, steady laughing, right at the base of his ear drums. It seemed to echo in and out, not entirely existing. Not entirely there.

Despite his last efforts, Jack's eyes slipped closed, and his head fell forward, too heavy to hold up.

The last thing that crossed his mind was Signe's name.

***

_I'm dead. I died. I died and I'm in Hell._

That's all Jack could think when his eyes opened that next morning. As soon as he woke up, something felt wrong. He was in his bedroom, staring at the ceiling, watching the fan turn round and round on high; yet, he couldn't feel the air on his skin. 

How was he alive right now? The simple answer was that he couldn't be. He died last night. He physically felt himself die last night. So how was he lying in his bed right now, the most normal thing that could be?

"Stop thinking for fuck's sake. It's annoying."

What the hell? Who said that?

"I did. Now shut up."

Jack felt the want to scream. Those words were coming out of his own mouth. It was his own voice. But he didn't say that. He didn't any anything...

"Are you this damn stupid all the time?"

Jack sat up, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. But...it wasn't Jack. He didn't tell his body to sit up; it seemed to move of its own accord, with Jack as a simple spectator. He tried to move his hand. Normally, he wouldn't have to think about it, and the fact that he looked at his hand while it lied still on his lap severely scared him. He couldn't command himself. What was going on?

"You seriously don't know?" asked the thing controlling him, annoyed. "You created me, after all."

The fear rippled inside of him, and Jack immediately knew. Though, he didn't want to. The mere thought of it seemed absurd. "You mean--" To say it out loud was to believe it. There was no way this could be true. But somehow, in the pit of what used to be _his_ stomach, he knew it had to be. "You're real?"

Anti laughed. "And how! Just look at me." Anti held his hands up in front of his face so Jack could see him open and close his fists. "These eyes aren't mine, of course. Sadly. I would've gone for something other than blue."

Anti flung the covers off him, and Jack suddenly realized that they were alone in the room. "Where's Signe?" He asked. 

Anti didn't answer.

Anger flared in Jack, and he immediately felt paranoia explode inside of his chest. "What did you do to her? I swear to god, if you hurt her, I will FUCKING kill you!"

Anti stood, a sly smile spreading on his face. "Calm down, you'll give me a heart attack. She's fine."

"I don't believe you."

Anti sighed. "Fine. I'll show you."

He led Jack through his own house, a place he knew so well, a place he could walk through blind. Anti seemed to walk slowly, however, with deliberate steps. He wasn't used to having a body. Jack wasn't used to not having one.

Anti peered around the hallway corner, and there sat Signe, watching TV half interested, no doubt waiting for Jack to wake up.

His heart ached for her. He needed to touch her. Hold her. Ask her for help. She was so damn smart, she'd know what to do.

The feeling was so strong that he drove Anti a step forward. No, that wasn't Anti, it was Jack. He had come back for half a second. But once he'd realized, the control was gone.

"Not so fast, Casanova," whispered Anti as he turned and walked back down the hallway. "We've got work to do. Videos to make."

"Please," Jack spat, "they'd never believe that you're me. They'd figure it out."

Anti slipped back into the bedroom, shutting and locking the door behind him. The camera in the corner seemed to be watching them. "Are you sure about that? I'm a really good actor." Anti slid into Jack's chair and switched on the ring light. 

"I'll bet you." Jack had zero doubt. In a fan base of fourteen million, someone was bound to notice.

Anti just chuckled. "I'd shake your hand if I could."

***

Anti leaned back in his chair, hands clasped together behind his head, smiling. A contented and amused sigh passed through his lips.

"Not. A. Soul," said Anti. For no other reason that to get Jack to shut up, he'd went through every media platform and every YouTube comment on his most recent videos, just to see if anyone would notice that it wasn't Jack, but Anti, in the videos. And just like he'd said: no one noticed. No one. And it had the desired effect. Jack went silent, and slid into the back of Anti's mind for some time. It was peaceful for about seven minutes, before Jack started crying, filling Anti's thoughts with morosity and annoying sobs for help.

"Will you shut up?" Anti demanded at one point.

There was a pause, a sniffle. "Why? What are you going to do? Take over my body?"

"I don't know man. It'd be a shame if something happened to one of your fans."

Jack went silent for the rest of the day. 

Not even Signe noticed the change. Anti would sit there, arm around her shoulder, smiling and laughing and kissing. He was kissing her. Jack saw from a first person point of view that he was kissing her. And it felt like he was sitting there watching him poison her. Every time he grabbed her hand or every time she grabbed his, it felt as if there was a transfer of toxins igniting between them. Jack had kept a careful watch on her, just to make sure that there wasn't a rash starting on the back of _her_ neck.

But Jack hadn't given up hope just yet. He'd been thinking about how on that first day, he taken back control, for just that one second. He needed to do it again. At least get out long enough to ask for help from Signe, Robin, someone. 

"I'd like to see you try," remarked Anti. "It took me years to get this body. There's no way I'm letting you get it back."

Vulnerability filled Jack. "I'm in your head; how do you always manage to crawl inside of mine?"

Anti snickered. "It's an art."

***

Jack didn't sleep anymore.

For one, he didn't need to. He didn't have a body he had to rest anymore, but Anti did. Anti had to sleep every night, much to his annoyance (he never had to before), which gave Jack plenty of time to swim in darkness, trying not to feel. A thought that he wished he had this ability when he had his own body passed his mind. It would've made recording a lot easier.

Recording. Playing games. Interacting with the outside world. Things he couldn't do anymore. How he wished he could just have one more day. Minute. He could cry for help just once. He had to try and take back control somehow. But how?

Anti turned on his side, clamping the pillow over his ears. "Shut up, will you?" he hissed under his breath. "I'm trying to fuckin' sleep."

"Well I'm not tired," Jack replied. 

"Well I _am._ So shut up."

Jack quieted, and Anti paused for a second just to see if he'd say something else. He then closed his eyes, satisfied, and tried to sleep once more.

"I'm going to get my body back."

Anti growled, and turned on his back. "Sure you will."

"Don't be sarcastic."

"I'm not. I mean it."

If Jack had a head, it'd be tilted to the side in confusion. "What?"

Anti rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Yeah," he said a little loud. Signe shifted next to him, and that was the cue to keep it down. "Yeah," he whispered. "You'll get it back."

"....Why don't I believe you?" 

Anti covered his face with the blanket, a smile spreading on his face. "You'll see."

You'll see.

He was afraid of what exactly he'd be seeing.

***

Anti pressed his back against the brick wall; the chill, night breeze was doing little to cool the boiling blood in his veins. Nervousness bubbled inside of him, and he tightened his grip on the knife handle, pulling his wrist forward to hide the blade in his hoodie sleeve. 

Jack felt nothing but fear. He wouldn't feel the wind from a tornado if he were caught in one at this point. All around him was nothing but stagnant fear as he watched, through Anti's eyes, what was happening.

The woman he'd been following for more than a few blocks had stopped in front of a small shop. She eyed the sign plastered on front, then went inside. Jack relished in silent relief. She'd just bought herself a few more minutes. 

"Goddamnit," Anti mumbled. He turned the corner, stuffing the knife as discreetly as he could in his hoodie pocket. Then he walked up and peered through the window of the shop. The light from inside poured over his features, illuminating him in stark contrast to the darkness outside. 

"Just leave her alone," Jack pleaded in vain. He was ignored.

Anti pushed the door open and entered the shop, keeping his eyes fixed on the girl, who was perusing over the selection of snacks resting on the shelves. He stepped forward, and slipped his way next to her. She didn't even seem to notice.

Doesn't she know what's going to happen? Does she not feel something, anything in the air that says something's off?

"Excuse me," said Anti, feigning sheepishness, pointing to a bag of pretzels on her side. "I'm sorry, could you, um, grab those for me?"

The woman looked up at him, smiling. She had dimples, Jack noticed. And green eyes, and red hair that went past her shoulders and--

He needed to stop thinking about this. He knew it'd only hurt worse soon. He imagined her, dead on the sidewalk, hair mixing with her blood as it pooled around her head on the pavement. "Run!" He yelled. She couldn't hear him. Of course.

"Oh, sure," said the girl. She reached over and grabbed for the bag, and Jack watched Anti's eyes drift down.  
"You fuckin' stop that."

_What? It's not cheating if you aren't the one doing it,_ Anti thought as he accepted the bag of pretzels with a smile and a, "Thank you so much."

"Not a problem."

Jack wished for the life of her that this was going to be the end of the encounter. A fruitless wish. "Actually, if it's not too much trouble, I wanted to know if you had any directions to..." he paused. "...oh geeze where was it? Um...Camomile Street?"

The girl tucked a stray hair behind her ear. "Oh yeah, once you go out the door, you make a right and go straight until you see the sign."

"Right? Ah, I had been walking left this whole time!"

The girl laughed. "Well there's your mistake right there!"

How could she be so trusting? Could she not sense that something was really wrong here? A random guy in a hoodie shows up just behind her in the middle of the night and just happens to enter the same store as her? That wasn't right! That was sketchy!

"Well where are you heading?" Anti asked. Of course he had to slip that in.

"I'm actually going that way to tell you the truth."  
Anti gave his best convincing smile. He might as well have had fangs. "I'll walk with you."

***

She was pinned against the alley wall, wrists clasped tightly above her head; so tight that they were losing circulation. But neither of them cared about that.

"You're so beautiful," Anti cooed into her ear. She shivered at his breath. Jack wished he could cover his eyes as she struggled under his grip; he only pushed the blade of the knife closer to her neck. A whimper escaped her lips.

"You've had your fun, for the love of God let her go," Jack pleaded.

"Nope," replied Anti out loud. He no longer cared if this girl thought he was crazy: the knife blade pressed against her throat proved that point well enough. "I'm not done quite yet."

The girl spat at Anti. "Just fucking do it," she demanded, apparently no longer afraid. Had she already accepted her death?

Anti tilted his head to the side, smirking. He wiped the spit off his cheek with his hoodie sleeve. "Don't mind if I do."

He pushed the blade into her throat, and blood spurted out, warm droplets landing on Anti's face. He was taking joy in this, the sick bastard. In a flash of anger, Jack could feel a desperate want. He wanted to stop Anti. He wanted to hurt Anti. He wanted to kill Anti.

Suddenly, like the flash and shutter of a camera, Jack could feel the breeze against his face. He could feel the blood. Before he even recognized what had happened, he had slid the blade across the girl's neck, opening her throat in a wide grin. Jack was the one holding the handle as tight as his grip would allow him.

The girl fell forward into Jack's arms, and he caught her with a choked up scream. How long had it been since he'd used his own muscles?

"Oh my god," was all he could say. The knife clattered to the ground, and he lowered himself, with her in his arms, onto the pavement. "Oh my god oh my god--"

Jack backed himself against the wall. He had pushed himself into the corner, as far into the shadows as he could manage. The girl just lied there, unmoving, on the ground, the blood slowly forming a pool around her auburn hair.

Lunch threatened to spill over, and Jack turned and buried his head into the corner of the brick wall, holding a hand to his mouth. This wasn't happening… this wasn't happening.

"This isn't happening," Jack said. He hit his temples with his fists as he said each word. "This. Isn't. Happening. It. Isn't. It--" 

A cackle pierced the air, and Jack clamped his hands over his ears to try and block it out, but it didn't work. The laughing was inside his own head.

"Told you you'd get your body back," said Anti. 

Jack tried to stand. His own knees failed to support him, so he had to lean haphazardly against the wall for help. _Turn around,_ he told himself. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. In some part of him, if he stood perfectly still, he could convince himself that he was sleeping right now. That any minute now, his vision would waver and he'd suddenly be sitting up in bed, clutching the covers in a cold sweat. Signe would hold him, and rake her fingers through his hair, and maybe even a massage for his shoulders because Sean, you tense up when you have nightmares, so I'm going to make sure you're relaxed enough for--

Before he even realized, he had turned around, and was looking over the woman's dead body, inches from him. The blood had made a tributary to his shoe. Her eyes were closed, but Jack knew they were green. Her face was blank, but he knew she had dimples. He knew she was just going to the shop, and all she knew was that a random stranger asked her for a bag of pretzels that he didn't even buy, and all she knew now was whether or not Heaven exists.

"You're spiraling," Anti commented. 

Jack angrily swiped tears away. Didn't he have a fuckin' right to be? He was afraid to speak, for fear of screaming to anyone that could hear him.

"You did this," Jack mumbled in a shaky voice. "You did this you did this you...did this."

He'd gone nuts. Entirely bonkers. Mad. He was probably in some institution right now, talking to himself, hallucinating this whole thing. 

But he knew he wasn't.

"I didn't do this," said Anti, defensive. "You did."

Jack vaguely felt himself shaking his head no.

"Think about it. Really think, Jack. I wasn't here until you created me." A pause. "There's no disease without a virus Jack."

"You're the disease."

"You're the virus."

Jack's memories flashed back to only months ago. The phone. The picture. The idea.

_....their fan-made, half character of Jack, his "dark side", Anti, had actually become canon._

Yes. He actually had.

"No. No no no no no no...." Jack pressed his heels to his eyes, trying to block out the reality. 

"We need to get out of here," Anti hissed. "Let's go!"

Jack, without even telling himself to, bent down and scooped up the knife, stumbling his way home, knowing that when the sun rose that morning, the woman would not know it.

***  
Jack lied still in the middle of his bed, staring up at the ceiling as the fan blades spun around on high. This time, the air was much too cold, and he almost wished that he couldn't feel anything right now. His hands were red, still pulsing slightly from where he'd scrubbed them raw. It did nothing. He still felt as if he were saturated in that woman's blood.

_You're the virus,_ Anti had said.

Yeah.

He felt like one.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a doozy to write, aha. Two weeks to finish on account of my laziness lmao. But tell me what you think. Criticism? Praise? Ideas? I'd love to hear from you


End file.
